


Reassurance

by OnABadBet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s08e14 Trial and Error, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnABadBet/pseuds/OnABadBet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never talk about it, but sometimes Sam needs to look out for Dean, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurance

They make it home with minimal conversation between them, Dean's eyes on the road and Sam's inexorably on his brother.

Sam gives them both time to eat and clean up, but it's not enough to shake off the shock. When he heads for Dean's bedroom, Dean follows, listless, like a dream.

He strips without being asked; Sam's eyes and hands are busy on his own clothes. Dean watches silently until Sam pushes him to the mattress and crawls in on top of him, noses up under Dean's jaw and breathes for a long moment.

It starts with wet, sucking kisses over Dean's pulse, down his neck, across his shoulders. Sam presses his tongue flat to the skin, pulling blood to the surface like he wants to taste that, too. He slides lower with every new press of lips, and when he reaches Dean's ribs, Sam lets out a low, furious noise. Touches cold fingers to the edges of the makeshift bandages, pushing just this side of too hard on the bloodiest parts of the gauze.

Sam finally breaks away once his breathing's slowed. He slips down the last foot or so, curls a hand around Dean's thigh and tugs, questioning. Dean catches his eye and nods.

Sam's hands are cold against him like they only ever are when Dean's running a fever -- infection, most likely. He's had worse. Sam takes his time working Dean open, long, careful fingers twisting and curling. He still doesn't use enough lube, and Dean doesn't bother asking if it was intentional. 

When Sam slides home, it burns. Sam probably thinks it wouldn't be them if it didn't.

"You're so stupid," is the first thing Sam says to him in over twelve hours, words pressed sharp and raw in the space between their mouths. Dean is grateful. "Almost lost you again. Fucking idiot, going alone." Sam lowers himself in a single, tense line over Dean, brackets his entire body with legs and shoulders and trembling arms. His spine curls, head bowing low, deadly-soft brush of hair over Dean's collarbone as Sam drives his hips forward, slow thrust. "And I'm worse. Let you. I fucking let you."

"Sam," Dean says sharply. His voice doesn't fit here -- he can't remember the last time Sam got him like this, laid him flat and took him apart so he could make sure every last bit of Dean was still there, still Sam's.

He does remember that he doesn't speak. He's not supposed to speak. These times belong to Sam.

Sam gives another deep thrust and curls his hand around Dean's jaw, fingertips spanning his cheek, his neck, thumb digging into the soft of his throat. "Shut up," he says, and Dean doesn't say another word.

There's no way to tell how long Sam keeps them like that, strung up and drawn out on tenterhooks. It's a quiet breakdown, Sam fucking slow and deep and close while Dean mostly pets at his brother's back, shoulders, neck, letting Sam reassure himself.

It burns itself out eventually, like it always does. Sam's hips stutter and he settles himself more firmly on one arm, working the other between their bodies to grip Dean. Sam pulls him off with slow, too-hesitant strokes that make Dean want to flip them, shove Sam out of this funk he gets into when he thinks he's going to lose Dean (almost lost him, won't get him back). He wants to do something to bring them back to their normal, borderline-playful fucking, because they're a long time past the guilt and the knee-jerk, stilted motions of _can't-have-shouldn't-want-wrong._

But Sam isn't letting Dean go, and Dean comes almost against his will, back curving off the mattress as he slicks their stomachs. He manages to get a hold on his thoughts long enough to clench tight around Sam, try to drag it out of him. Sam shakes and bears him down into the mattress with a low whine, following Dean over.

Dean blinks and pries his hands off Sam's hips, reaches up to hold Sam's face between his palms, quietly waiting. When Sam finally looks at him, eyes wet, he slides his hands into Sam's hair and cradles him down against his chest. Presses his fingertips to Sam's scalp and strokes lightly until Sam sags against him, unwinds all at once back into Dean's pliant, terrified little brother. "We're okay, Sammy. Gonna be okay."


End file.
